Okay, so I'm not really sure how to preface this, but I headcanon Loghain gay- explaining my feelings about how he relates to the women in his life, especially since I have no intention of erasing them, is difficult, so I tried to do it with this fic about him and Celia. Hope you like it.
There weren't many dances in Gwaren. It was a practical little town, still recovering from the war, focused mostly on trading goods through the bustling port. But still, when the King came to town, you threw some pomp and ceremony, tried a little harder to impress. That's what the few city officials Loghain listened to said, anyway, and after weeks of begging, he finally accepted their request for a ball.
The clothes he was wearing were tight on his shoulders and chest. He still hunted and fought in skirmishes, and the clothes were made for a smaller man. At least they were simple. He wouldn't go out in public wearing the sort of finery the Orlesians preferred. It wouldn't get on his body in the first place.
"You're staring again."
He snorted, tearing his eyes away from Maric's raucous display of good cheer from his seat at the center of the table. Rowan never came to Gwaren. He couldn't say he blamed her. It felt wrong to watch Maric pretend to be so happy, his smile so painted on it could have been one of those ridiculous masks the invaders liked to wear.
"What happened between you to?"
Celia was the type of person who asked all sorts of questions- but unlike most people she knew that Loghain wasn't likely to answer them. More than that, she understood why he didn't.
He sighed, keeping his gaze away from Maric. "I should go up there."
Loghain was announcing his engagement at the party. He was not looking forward to the lesser Arls and Banns that would try to curry favor with him by giving him gifts or attempting to converse about it with him. As far as he was concerned, his engagement was his business alone. His and Celia's.
The bards- the singers, he corrected sourly, because he would rather set fire to the building to let an Orlesian bard into his hall- began a new song, a slow dancing tune. He hadn't danced at all, but when he looked down at Celia, who looked beautiful in a dark blue gown imported from Antiva (oh, how she had teased him when he gave it to her). Her mother had given her the pearls she wore around her neck, all harvested from Gwaren's waters. He reached out, fingertips brushing them. She shiver, looking up at him.
"Do you want to dance?"
He knew she hadn't expected this from him. He had been raised a farmer, far away from any court, and had had no time or interest to learn the foolish art of dancing during the war. She was the daughter of a cabinet maker, and while she cared for these things more than he did, it was hardly more so.
"Of course," she said, nodding her head, her smile dimpling. He reached a hand for hers, fumbling slightly. She pulled his hand down to the appropriate place on her waist and set her hand on his shoulder.
They swept onto the dance floor. It was fairly empty, as the song they were dancing to had been played an hour or so earlier. People stopped talking and watched them as Loghain clumsily led their dancing. His hand was sweating in hers. Neither of them had ever thought to share this kind of intimate moment - she knew he was a man who wanted other men (and tried, he thought with a pang, so desperately to hide it) and he knew she was a woman who wanted no one.
"You're doing fine," she said, guiding his movements with a firm touch.
"You look beautiful," he said, the words coming out more of an elongated grunt than anything. She laughed.
Maric was watching him now. He ignored the rush of heat to his face and concentrated on dancing. Celia was a natural and he learned from her moves. She was beautiful, he thought. She smiled at him, not saying a word about his stormy expression. She never did. It was an odd thing, to find a relationship that meant so much with this woman he'd met on the streets of Gwaren.
He pulled her closer, and when the song ended, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
There was silence when they parted. Celia was a commoner. He shouldn't be surprised. They'd decided to announce the engagement in front of nobles for the purpose of shocking them- he'd known this was coming.
His head whipped around in shock, his instincts telling him he was hearing a danger that wasn't there as he reached for a sword that he wasn't carrying. It was Maric. He was clapping.
"Congrats to the happy couple!" shouted the King, and the audience cheered.
If the war had happened differently, he thought, those words might have been very different. He couldn't regret that with his arm around Celia's waist.